


At the Edge

by faikitty



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, Feathers & Featherplay, Fluffy Ending, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, SHEITH - Freeform, Tickling, despite the title this does not contain edgeplay I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: “Are you really that ticklish?” he asks, voice light and airy.This is how the game starts.





	At the Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PRllNCE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRllNCE/gifts).



> I don't actually watch Voltron but I love Sheith and this is a gift for Prince so you gotta get those kinks in there regardless of whether or not they may be OOC. We just both have a need to see Shiro completely wrecked and tickling is The Best.

Shiro hears Keith enter.

It has become a near nightly occurrence—one of them sneaking into the bed of the other and leaving before daybreak for fear of being discovered. Shiro isn’t foolish enough to hope that one day they won’t have to do this, to hide the relationship from their comrades, but when Keith slips quietly into bed behind him, Shiro can’t help but wish that for one night, they could stay intertwined like this, Keith’s arms warm as they wrap around Shiro’s waist, the younger man’s nuzzling into the dip of muscles on his back.

Neither man speaks. They realized long ago that both of them are lousy at having honest heart-to-heart discussions in anything but the heat of battle or argument. Besides, the touch of skin on skin and the shape of flesh is enough. Keith’s hands aren’t soft; they bear the witness marks of a swordsman. But they’re _comfortingly_ rough, almost soothing as they play in small circles on Shiro’s abdomen—

Until they’re _not_ soothing anymore, and Shiro’s muscles jump involuntarily, his body stiffens, and he holds his breath for fear of making any sound. Keith’s hands still for a moment then intentionally brush over the same spot, curious, testing the hypothesis that they’ll provoke the same reaction, and they _do_. “Are you really that ticklish?” he asks, voice light and airy.

This is how the game starts.

Keith has done this before. He knows damn well how ticklish Shiro is—knows and takes advantage of it. He pretends he doesn’t, though, and Shiro pretends he _isn’t_ , and they both get to enjoy themselves in the lie.

“Hm?” Keith presses, hot breath and the light touch of his lips sending anticipatory shivers down Shiro’s spine. He trails a single, teasing finger up Shiro’s side and down over his nipple, hovering there for the brief second it takes Shiro to react, to curl in at the touch.

“No,” the older man protests despite knowing Keith knows better, and Keith’s lips curve into a smile against his skin.

“Let’s see about that.”

Shiro blinks and finds himself on his back, Keith’s leg thrown over his hips, straddling him to pin him beneath his own body weight. He grabs Shiro’s wrists in one hand and, producing a small length of rope from seemingly nowhere, ties them together. Keith glances warningly down at Shiro as he lets go and watches the older man test the strength of the ropes. “Don’t try to escape, now,” he says, and Shiro shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Keith runs his hands experimentally down Shiro’s sides, watching Shiro’s easy expression contort into one of brief panic, then pulls his hands away and nods. “We’ll see.”

Keith starts slow. He _always_ starts slow, and Shiro wonders if it’s the tickling he enjoys or if it’s just seeing Shiro worked up to a frenzy before getting release. His fingers trace lines light over Shiro’s shirt then fit just below its hem and pull it up, agonizingly slowly, until Shiro has to duck his head to allow it to pass over and up to his wrists. Keith’s nails trail back down along the sensitive skin of his inner arm; they pass over his prosthesis entirely on the other side, skipping down to thumb circles over his nipple. When Keith’s hand has made its way all the way down Shiro’s arm to his torso, it joins the other in playing over his nipples just long enough to make Shiro give a harsh breath and arch his back into the touch. They move on with a final flick, traveling down, touch far too light to be anything near satisfying, only barely enough to even be ticklish. Shiro stays quiet; he doesn’t groan, doesn’t beg, doesn’t laugh; he won’t give in _this_ early into the game. He won’t concede yet.

But _god_ , Keith’s hands on his body, raking over his skin with a touch that grows ever harder, just heavy enough now to be ticklish, make it a struggle. Keith’s face is still passive when Shiro’s eyes flash to it, and he won’t go any _faster_. He just keeps exploring every inch of Shiro’s skin with those spidery, calloused fingers, searching for the spots that provoke the most reaction, and when he finds one, a set of ribs just under Shiro’s chest that make him jolt, he stays there, focusing in on the most sensitive areas he can find. Shiro pulls his arms down, movements jerky and quick as he stiffens, and turns his head until his mouth is covered by his bicep. His jaw is set firm, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to even let himself _move_ that he’ll give in to laughter if Keith’s prying fingers don’t move on. But he can’t even begin to keep his body from reacting, even when Keith does continue, muscles twitching beneath Keith’s feather-light touch, and he begins to shake ( _never_ a good sign), racked with small tremors as Keith’s skittering fingers find the right spot.

And finally Keith _digs_ his fingers into Shiro’s skin, one brushing hard over his nipple, the other up to his armpit. Shiro gives a burst of laughter; the dam breaks. He can’t keep in the giggles now, can hardly even _breathe_ through the laughter being forced from his lungs. And he’s loud, _immediately_ loud and _too_ loud, he’s sure, but he can’t _help_ it when Keith knows exactly where to focus his attacks. He tries to bite at his own skin, to muffle his laughter in flesh, but Keith leans forward, grabs Shiro’s wrists, and shoves them up over his head once more.

“I wish this place had proper headboards,” he sighs, and Shiro’s skin burns at the idea of _that_ , of being completely pinned down and utterly at Keith’s mercy. Keith gives an amused smile at the red that floods Shiro’s face, painting him even darker than the laughter had, then he disappears for a brief moment, the weight lifted from Shiro’s hips. The absence of pressure is worse than its presence, no matter how torturous the tickling might get—but then Keith is back, shape of him heavy over his hips, and cool fabric is being placed over his eyes, blinding him. “Let’s see if your reactions will be more honest if you can’t see.”

Shiro has time for an admittedly melodramatic gulp before Keith’s hands are at hips, then his armpits, then his nipples, then his stomach. Now he doesn’t even know where Keith’s fingers are going to land next, and he gives up on even _trying_ to choke down his laughter, instead giving in fully, his body arching this way and that in an attempt to escape the hands that seem to come out of nowhere. His body shakes, a heat pooling in his stomach that always comes as a surprise, that just _tickling_ could make him feel this way. At some point, Keith must have stripped down to his underwear, because when his fingers seek out an especially sensitive spot and bring Shiro almost to tears with laughter, he can feel Keith’s cock twitch behind the fabric.

“You’re being too loud, Shiro,” Keith admonishes, but Shiro can hear the pleased smile in his voice. “Someone is going to hear you. Unless that’s what you want?” Shiro swallows hard and takes in a ragged breath, but the air is forced back out of his lungs almost immediately by Keith’s taunting hands on his waist. “Do you _want_ one of the other paladins to come in and find you like this? All hot and sweaty and desperate just from me tickling you?”

“N-no.”

Keith leans down, flattening his body over Shiro’s heaving form, and places a gentle kiss on his parted lips, fingers slowing to an almost comfortable pace for the moment. “That’s what I thought,” he breathes.

His hands disappear when he rises again, and when they return, it isn’t skin that meets Shiro’s ribs but the soft point of a feather, and Shiro barely has time to groan out “ _N-No_ ” before Keith is attacking him with that, mercilessly rough, running the soft edges of the feather over the sharpness of his hips and ribs and the curves of his abdomen and pecs until they stop being soft and feel scratchy instead. With his empty hand Keith keeps tracing circles of sensation over skin that grows hotter by the minute. Shiro’s laughter has half-turned to moans, he knows, but he can’t _stop_ , not when it feels this _good_.

But Shiro isn’t the only one feeling it, and he _knows_ it. He can _hear_ the slight tremor to Keith’s voice, see, when the mask slips up, even through the tears that blur his eyes, Keith bite his lower lip, face flushed with desire, the slight forward hunch of his shoulders, feel Keith shifting, rubbing over the hardening shape of Shiro as his cock presses up against the unforgiving edge of his pants and against Keith. He gasps at the absence of hands on flesh when Keith goes to undo his pants, sliding them down just until they reach his knees to keep his legs together. Keith scoots back up, settles himself back on Shiro and grinds down, his hands returning, both with feathers now, to slide over Shiro’s waist again and draw from him pained, raucous laughter, a moan taking the place of a laugh every now and again and Keith grinds against his cock.

Shiro can’t seem to take in a full breath; every inhale is forced back out only halfway to completion. “K- _eith_ ,” he manages to moan between hitches of laughter. His mind is all fuzzy, his world nothing but high-pitched sensation and burning heat. “Ahahah— _p-please_ ,” he begs, but Keith barely pauses before dipping the feathers down beneath the waistband of Shiro’s underwear. The backs of Shiro’s eyelids spike through with white as his next laugh sounds something like a sob. “ _Kei_ —ahahaha! _P-please!_ I need—” He breaks off as another round of uncontrollable laughter forces its way from his lungs on what little air he had left. Shiro chokes on his own laughter, unable to breathe, unable to _think_ , his body still shaking, the intensity of all the sensations only growing as his ears ring and his vision blurs from white to black, black to white.

Keith slows his movements. He drops the feathers and lets the circling of his fingers become calming, soothing, to give Shiro a chance to breathe. Shiro gasps in air once, twice, thrice, the deep breaths of a fighter used to being starved for oxygen. His exhales come with sound, frustration and pleasure mixed. “You good?” Keith asks, uncertainty clouding his tone.

Shiro nods, still dizzy, not yet trusting himself to speak. Still, Keith waits… and waits, and _waits_ , until Shiro is shifting uncomfortably beneath him, longingly, and it isn’t until Shiro starts to lower his arms to lift the blindfold that Keith attacks.

He scoots down between Shiro’s thighs, using his own body to keep Shiro from squeezing his thighs together. His fingertips dart over the hard shape of Shiro still beneath his underwear then pull down the band when they reach the top. A brief pause follows, then Keith is pressing forward again, his body warm against Shiro’s cock and his fingers _too much_ on his inner thighs. Shiro _writhes_ beneath his hands, no longer even able to _attempt_ to keep his voice down, his body flushed all over and his blood pounding hot in his ears. But it feels good, _too_ good, and he can’t stop his laughter from splintering off into a rough, needy groan as Keith’s fingers hit a particularly sweet spot. If he weren’t already drunk on laughter he would be embarrassed, but he _can’t_ be, not when all he’s aware of are Keith’s hands on his skin and the aching pressure surfacing inside his veins. His cock twitches against his stomach, pre-come spilling slick on his skin, and he feels Keith’s fingers stutter, hears him swear just barely over the sound of his own laughter.

“You’re this hard and I’ve barely even touched you,” Keith marvels. Shiro gives another shudder of laughter as Keith’s fingers drift almost absentmindedly up his thighs and over his hips. Shiro twists away from the touch as it travels higher, higher, and hides his face once more in his arm to bite back laughter and moans alike. But Keith bares down on him, grabs Shiro’s wrists with one hand to thrust them hard over his head and kisses him harder, his other hand continuing to skate over his ribs. It makes Shiro’s lips part, his mouth opening for laughter rather than hunger, but when Keith’s tongue slips between them he accepts it gladly, even if he can’t stop giggling, even then, _unable_ to stop while Keith’s damned hand is still running in smooth circles over Shiro’s hypersensitive skin. He can feel Keith’s cock, still behind fabric, hard against his own.

He has just enough of his mind left to tilt his head back, break the kiss, and say, “C-could say the s-same to y-y-you—ahahaha!”

The jab’s impact might have been a bit lessened by the laughter as Keith frowns at his speaking and digs into his thighs until he can only laugh. From wherever Keith got the feather, he now retrieves a small brush, the type used to apply makeup, and draws its bristles across Shiro until Shiro bucks up against Keith. The younger man chuckles but Shiro can’t be embarrassed, not now, not when the bristles feel so torturously good against his skin. Keith bares down with his hips, rising up on one hand to give himself a better angle to slide over Shiro’s cock, fabric rough on his skin under the weight of Keith’s arousal. With the brush, his other hand goes to play with Shiro’s nipple, hard and painfully sensitive from all the teasing, and Shiro’s head falls back, the brief respite making him want more, more of _everything_ , not just Keith’s hand on his cock _finally_ but the tickling too, all over his body. His breath comes hard on a moan as Keith grinds down against his cock and braces himself on one elbow to fit his teeth against Shiro’s skin, biting and sucking to leave marks to tell the others that Shiro is his, his, _his_.

“What do you want, Shiro” Keith whispers into his ear. Shiro groans and twists his head away, panting. “Say it.”

With a deep breath, Shiro releases the last of his inhibitions. “Tickle me. _Please_.”

“Good,” Keith purrs against his skin before straightening up. The motion bumps up Shiro’s blindfold, and he can see Keith’s face flushed, all the way to his ears, and it would be cute if it weren’t so damn sexy, his expression dominant and focused, the same face he wears in battle, only now it’s turned on Shiro, entirely at his mercy. Shiro obediently pulls the blindfold back over his eyes to completely obscure his vision just as it explodes in a flash of color as Keith circles his nipples with a brush in each hand and slides down to his abdomen, using the pre-come spread over his stomach to add to the slickness of his skin. Shiro can’t tell if he’s laughing or sobbing now but his throat burns with the effort of it, each sound scratching up from his lungs and suffocating him, but he _likes_ it. He _needs_ it, the racing of Keith’s fingers moving faster than his thoughts until his thoughts are all gone and all that exists is the steadily building pressure in his cock and Keith, pressed over him with his fingers darting here and there, never giving Shiro enough time to breathe between bouts of laughter, never letting him know where they will go next. His cock twitches against his stomach, painfully hard without even having been properly touched. Distantly, Shiro hears Keith ask something, but it isn’t until Keith stops moving entirely that Shiro realizes he was supposed to respond.

“What?”

“Do you think you can come just from this?” Keith asks again, amusement and lust mixed in his voice. He drops the brush and lets one hand fall lower, closing his fist around Shiro’s cock and teasing him with gentle, languid strokes that would normally only be frustrating, but Shiro still nearly has to tell him to stop, his spine going taut with the promise of relief. Keith releases him entirely, sitting back on his heels, and the utter absence of Keith’s hands anywhere on his body make Shiro want to beg for them back.

“I don’t know,” Shiro says instead. He shoves up the blindfold and lifts his head to meet Keith’s eyes, curious and intense, then drops it back with a groan of both reluctance and desire and slips the blindfold back into place. “Maybe.”

“I bet you can,” Keith murmurs. He leans forward and fits his fingertips to the center of Shiro’s chest. Shiro can feel him shake slightly with quiet laughter when he reflexively tries to pull away from Keith’s touch. “Want to find out?”

Shiro swallows hard and exhales harder. “Yes.”

Keith laughs, and, granted permission, trails his fingertips down from Shiro’s chest, over his abdomen, and back up. Shiro explodes in laughter, tears running down his face from beneath the blindfold, and his mind goes blissfully empty so all he feels is tickling, tickling, tickling. Keith tweaks his nipple with a nail; Shiro’s laughter breaks on a moan that he feels through his entire being. Then Keith has the tools in his hands again, a feather in one, brush in the other, and both are running over his cock, the feather over the tip as its strand soak up pre-come and the brush over his balls, and Shiro is shaking, laughing, taking in spasming breaths whenever he gets the chance, which he rarely _does_ as the bristles keep circling over his balls and the feather darts across his abdomen.

Keith groans, the sound distant and blurred through Shiro’s laughter, and the feather vanishes. Shiro feels a fumbling motion between his legs and realizes Keith has begun to jerk himself off, getting off to Shiro’s laughter. The older man bits his lip with a moan, all the while feeling the pressure building where the brush is running over his balls—then the brush runs down, over his inner thighs and around the base of his cock then over the hills of his abdomen, where the sensation makes him break into sobbing, frustrated laughter. And beneath him is Keith, moving with slight, jarring movements over his own cock, occasionally bumping against Shiro’s thighs. He can just barely hear the labored sound of Keith’s breathing, and that stirs him on and Shiro _knows_ he’s lost. It practically _hurts_ now, but he still wants it, wants it more and _more_ , and when the brush runs over Shiro’s length again, it’s finally, _finally_ just enough to make him come, his cock jumping with the release of pressure and his breath tearing lose from his chest in a sobbing moan. Keith keeps tickling him through wave after wave of orgasm, all of his muscles tensing at once and his skin feeling as if it is ablaze.

Between his legs he feel Keith thrust over himself a few more times before Keith comes too, spilling over Shiro’s cock and stomach. He trails his fingers down Shiro’s trembling abdomen one last time before letting him go entirely. Shiro struggles to lift his head before giving up, not even trying to keep the restraints from biting into his one real wrist as his arms go limp. Keith is gentle as he unties the older man, tsking when he sees the angry red marks that Shiro’s fighting wore into his wrist. He’s even gentler when he pulls the blindfolds free from Shiro’s eyes, his expression one of worry for the brief moment Shiro bothers to keep his eyes open for. The older man pulls his hands down to his chest, exhaustion permeating his being. He hears Keith’s footsteps as he walks away, followed by the sound of running water, and then the bed sinks in with his familiar shape and a cool rag is being pressed to Shiro’s forehead.

Shiro gives a tired sigh at the touch. He reaches up to take the rag himself, but Keith holds it firmly, wiping off the dried sweat and tears from his skin. Shiro sighs again, one of contentment this time. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and Keith pauses.

“Are you okay?” the younger man asks, and he sounds so genuinely concerned that Shiro brushes away the rag so he can open his red-streaked eyes and look up at him. Keith gazes down at him, uncertainty and worry marring his normally soft features, and Shiro reaches up with an arm that feels like jelly to cup his cheek in his arm.

“I’m fine. I’m just tired.” Shiro drops his arm again, his muscles aching with the movement and his wrist sore. “I’m going to have to come up with an excuse before tomorrow’s training, otherwise, everyone will wonder why I’m suddenly unable to lift anything.”

“You might have a little bit more to explain than just that,” Keith says sheepishly, wincing a little as he touches the bruises he left with his teeth on Shiro’s neck.

Shiro sighs, chest heaving with the motion as air goes through his entire body. “That’s a problem for tomorrow,” he yawns. He feels utterly spent, his throat sore and his wrist stinging and his muscles still screaming. He tries against to take the rag, but Keith holds it just out of his reach and gives him a stern look before wiping down the rest of his body. Shiro can’t help but flinch slightly when Keith rubs it over his stomach. “Before you say anything: no, you didn’t hurt me, and yes, I’m okay,” he says when Keith freezes and opens his mouth again. “Come here.”

Keith hesitates then sets down the rag and leans in to Shiro’s touch, his arms immediately snaking back around Shiro’s body as Shiro’s arms go around his waist. He presses his face into Shiro’s chest, breathing deeply; Shiro rests his chin on the top of Keith’s head, hair soft where it brushes against his skin. _I wish you could stay_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. _I love you_ , he thinks, but only to himself. When he speaks, he says simply, “Sleep for awhile.”

Keith presses into his touch even more until there is no space left between their bodies, even though it’s too hot to be comfortable like this. “Okay.”

Shiro closes his eyes. He knows he’ll wake up with a cold, empty space next to him where Keith should be. But that’s okay, for now. Because for now, they have laughter, shared only with the other. They have warmth. They have comfort.

They have each other.


End file.
